Otherworld Servant
by Sixth Limb of Sephiroth
Summary: FFVII/FFX. A minor prelude. As the Machina War comes to its close, he gazes with satisfied wonder. He sees a dark future riding on Zanarkand's broken back, for which loss is necessary. Sweet, delicious loss.


_From Sixth: Insert obligatory disclaimer here about not owning anything of the Final Fantasy universe. Insert disclaimer that I merely own the secondary premise that will be riding FFX's storyline, as well as original characters and/or locations that might arise during the course of this fiction. Also, consider this and the upcoming epic to be a sort of parallel novelization. Past is future, playing on the ambiguous tidbit once mentioned that both the FFVII and FFX worlds are connected or one and the same. Except…time sort of…flipped. But, hey…_

_-_

_**The Otherworld Servant**_

One by one by one, you watch the days pass. The sun and moon dance their timeless dance across the rolling skies. You see civilizations rise and fall, lives swell and shrink to nothing. You spy your rivals, once perfect enemies, struggle through their meager lives, perpetuate their damnable bloodlines, weaving fragile legacies into the unknown future; or, they simply choose to vanish-- forever-- into the shades of forgotten history. And the sea of meaningless faces around them ushers them onward, still, like great and battered ships of conquerors long departed. But you do not change. You, yourself, do not advance. You, you are a ship that parts the constant waves. Instead, from afar you survey destruction creep across the lands over and over, sentient shadows in the guises of war, famine, pestilence, death, soaking the soil in guilty and innocent blood alike. It soothes you. It fascinates you. Because there is knowledge to be found in those instances, silent, roaring. Something new will always grow from that bloody soil, small yet phenomenal. It will drink that blood and grow. It will change, hopefully change everything around it. It is then only a matter of time in seeing whether or not it will be good for the earth. You watch and you'll see.

Because you'll have all the time in the world. Until the end of that time comes…

And a new one begins. Each and every time.

xx

xx

War continued to brew between Bevelle and Zanarkand. Any common idiot just had to be amazed at how the oceans never proved more than watery plagues easily overcome for the sake of fighting the "good fight." These petty disputes strung together would rage on even through the most furious of storms set to sink the face of our great earth. They would even rage across the earth's face itself, like explosive tempests of living fire. That much was undeniable. Holy Capital versus Holy City, the millennium's finest face-off to date. From a particular viewpoint, the entire ordeal was laughable. War, in itself, was laughable. The futility; worst of all, the mindless, animal reasons for maintaining war from start to finish; the empty victories resulting thereafter for nations too big to ever really acknowledge them in the end.

Which brought to mind, what was this one's point?

Was it jealousy?

A simple power struggle?

Religion? Resources? Secrets?

Morbid entertainment for some black-faced god?

Or, a means of gathering unwitting fuel for an ever-thirsting planet?

This "Machina War" had been struggling for what might have been decades. I played spectator with my very own eyes, from atop Zanarkand's neon towers and along its winding, perpetual streets-- I stayed in the mystical city when I could for the cozy reminiscence of an old metropolis that refused aching hearts, but merely knowing that it once existed. And it never failed to sustain me.

Bevelle was strong, too strong. But that was expected of them, knowing who they were, who they descended from. Corporate menaces from a time I had once called my own for necessity even I couldn't be bothered to recall anymore. ShinRa. That name had long since vanished from Gaia's annals, with not even a memory remaining to this day. Not even in the minds of its descendants.

But the past here was forgotten at war's heels. All that mattered was here, now, and what it would make of the future.

* * *

There I sat.

The evening air was cold and sweet to the taste, a briny sweetness I'd for so long considered unusual as it wafted up from the waters running to, through and surrounding the city. The oceans had changed so much. Somewhere along the line, a man had to have declared the Planet's water a truly sacred entity and developed technological miracles after another to ensure its continued well-being. Another man had to have erected temple after temple, gathered follower after follower and decreed they renounce the toxic technical wonders to maintain the oceans a more natural, altruistic way.

Singular men were always attempting to rein the earth in its favor.

I laughed, considering the irony in that observation.

And yet, the planet rarely seemed to protest against these men's actions. If anything, it was another of her children who protested in her place, as if they could speak for Gaia. But, truthfully, they couldn't. At least, not the vast majority. Barely even a precious few could lay claim to such. To be able to hear what the planet whispered, when it cried, now that was a skill war would have been waged for. Fighting over who simply had better machines was an insult to mankind's integrity.

But then, regardless of the good-natured masses as opposed to the ill, human integrity lied in a state of constant erosion, anyways. So, what need was there to further insult an already degraded thing, and still degrading at that? It was hardly worth the breath, save to disillusion the blissfully ignorant of their situation. They were lives lost if they didn't see reality.

But, lives lost meant...

I turned my gaze heavenward and smiled. The moon was full. The skies were clear and starless, if not for shells bursting overhead, fireworks wailing and showering the night with the fiery red sparks of burning shrapnel. Rattling booms, screams and shouts echoed over the screech and groan of machinery working, fighting, killing. Soon, Bevelle's machina would besiege the entire city of Zanarkand, and reach even the quiet street by which I sat.

All the citizens had fled. Soldiers streaked by here or there, but paid me no mind. Who would bother a simple vagrant like me? No one, not while war was being fought right within their city limits, right on their doorsteps. Never mind the sword I kept at my side. When one saw a figure dressed down in absolute rags, what else could one think of him than gutter trash?

Smoke streamed above in shrill, whistling cries.

Towers bowed at their nonexistent waists into clouds of smoke and flames.

"Ha ha. Well, doesn't this look familiar. This little world's falling in flames, but...

"Eh?"

A pleasant mooing permeated the air all of a sudden. It was unlike anything one normally heard during a war. It grew louder each passing minute, more melodious, despondent. It was the kind of call that begged to it all the miserable company on Gaia.

Stars blinked to life, thousands of them with hazy, glittering tails. Was this her? Was she dancing to some silent music wherever she dwelt now? Was she trying to return to the waking world through every one of these frail wisps that floated, turned, and flew away? Like a child, I reached up to grasp one, to hope it'd play on my fingers for a time before leaving. I felt its energy. So cool, so soothing, with just a hint of sadness.

I knew it was her. Gaia.

Drana.

"Does the fighting stir you?" I asked, grinning dreamily.

xx

_--There were times... When the world stirred deep below the surface, something, just something could be seen, could be glimpsed. And the old days would come rushing back, a great green torrent of the life-giving blood that this world bled. They were glorious, they were pitiful, utterly disgusting, everything a human asked for and abhorred in recollection of their past.--_

_--No model citizen was I.--_

_--But a warrior paragon, yes.--_

_--And now, in this day and age, I was merely a servant.--_

_--Whom or what did I serve? Why did I serve? For how long had I served? Would I continue serving?--_

_--Questions, understandable. But they were questions I refused to answer outright. I wanted people to guess. It added a little spice to otherwise deathly dull conversation. To the trained eye and ear, all the answers one sought lied simply in the air around me, how I stirred it, how I made it smell, and how my voice carried itself upon it. And they would be there, ripe for the picking. The words sounded and the words unspoken.--_

_--An entire world, that was I. Waiting to be journeyed.--_

xx

"No, it doesn't," I concluded, watching the stars dance into the distance, out towards the south. There was that pull. It was as enticing as the gentle moans that preceded them, that beckoned them, and all the woeful things that hung invisibly on the air. The sad ones, the irate and the freshly confused. The wayward that could not quite depart from the living world to the next. "They're summoning...

"We can feel it, can't we? They're summoning. So much life on its way.

"Drana, what do you think of this? Look how they gather. But not for Gaia. How selfish of these summoners." I scoffed and shrugged my shoulders, then looked down at my hands. I squeezed my fists tight, listening to the leather that bound them squeak like rubber. These gloves were old, at least a century, somewhat swollen from the inevitable water damage time and again, despite the care I took. And all the nicks and scratches. But now was obviously not the time to be thinking on something as trivial as gloves. My curiosity was piqued elsewhere. Where were these 'pyreflies,' as people started calling them, being summoned to? I had to find out. I had to find out why such a massive well of the Planet's energy was being taken away.

It was an injustice. Gaia and Drana needed it so much more than these idiot humans fighting their war.

At least I had a reason and the energy was never wasted, not even a drop. As a servant, my efforts always returned to the served, for hope of that favorable reward.

"Let's go," I said, rising to my feet, holding tight to my blade.

x

It seemed the end for the City of the Pyreflies.

But Zanarkand had devised a plan while crawling on its knees, a crackpot design so ridiculous that, in its ridiculousness, might actually work.

To win this losing war, the people gathered their lives together. They knelt and prayed in their glowing coliseum. Hundreds upon hundreds of trembling bodies, men, women, and children with their hands clasped so tight, every knuckle a testimony to stark, surmounting fear. Some faces were streaked with tears, others flaming red with fury, the rest a darkling green with the sickening realization that this moment could mark their final breaths, even more so the downfall of their shining glory they'd thought would glow eternal.

A few faces of serenity dotted the genuflecting crowds. Perhaps they understood that their time to bow out of history had arrived at last. Or, perhaps they knew in their little hearts that everything would be fine. They would continue to live on as beautiful, glorious Zanarkand, always, until the very end of time itself. Or these select few wanted destruction and wished for it as fervently as those who wanted salvation.

There were so many facets.

But no matter the prayers moaned, wept, or sung...

The time had come.

* * *

Zanarkand's quivering master, a tall important man flanked by a tall important woman, waved his menacingly ornate staff from above, shouting and singing things which meant nothing to anyone else but his people. In turn, some bowed their heads, some stood straight with their arms reaching for air. Crying and chanting beset the crowds of fearful citizens.

I watched, understanding.

This was the pleasant mooing I heard, this hymnal in a harmonious flood droning over miles and miles of architecture toiling for survival from its own destruction. The singing, it was so much like the quiet winds of the otherworld, within the Planet's ever-flowing veins. This was the song of the dead. It roused me to euphoria in the midst of this war, roiled the earth's blood beneath concrete, soil, and sea, and turned Drana in her sleep. The wandering spirits whistled their wails softly to the prayers of the people, amassing between them like frantic wingless birds.

Amongst the pyreflies burst wild ghosts from the standing ovation.

Beautiful.

My body ached. All this spiritual energy beckoned me to join in as it swirled high into the air above the stadium. It felt as though the Planet tried to lay me back down to sleep in hopes of taking and using my body however it would. Tricky summoners and their powers, bending nature to their wills. How dazed the beasts always appeared when first brought to the surface of the real world. How dreary their strength when bidden upon compared to those who fought and existed naturally in this realm.

I fell to my knees, my chin high and arms outstretched. I gasped and gazed through half-closed eyes at the iridescence billowing in the skies above, the budding apparitions bumping together like the ghostly revelry that they were.

_**Join us. Help save our Zanarkand, stranger.**_

"Ah..." I pointed a finger directly overhead.

The master summoner's eyes were on me. Icy yellow things in a dire white face. I could only grin back from the shadows of my kneeling place, resisting the sweetly soft and unseen arms drawing, asking me to become part of this display. This ascension.

But I needed no such thing. I already had everything...

"Oh, I'm sorry," I drawled, grinning far more broadly now than before. "Such martyrdom is not for me."

x

Bevelle certainly had the upper hand as they swarmed Zanarkand's inner sanctums, destroying and capturing what they could with their almighty machina. This war would soon be theirs. Their cheers and jeers marked the beginnings of their coming victory. Bevelle, the Holy Capital, was sure to prevail.

Yet, as was expected…

A shadow came.

In the delicate mists of song over the broken metropolis, a shadow spread from the clouds of frantic spirits. The hovering howl of something large approaching drowned out all noise, the sad hymn that preceded it, to much dismay, the bursting bombshells and the premature cries of triumph.

What lurked now in Zanarkand's skies, this thing summoned from Gaia's lifeblood both within her and her children? What was this shadow as it expanded farther and wider, as it dipped the city's shattered skyscrapers in darkness lined with the light of the pyreflies?

Questions, understandable.

But the answers drifted oh-so-simply in the air.

A shadow bringing change. An embryonic future slowly rearing its dark, supple face. How seductive its curves and fine points. How intimidating its earth-shaking size, still growing. Bevelle's alpine authority now stood challenged. Two futures facing off. How beautiful was that? Very beautiful. To watch destruction plot its course, to watch destruction shed the blood of many in order for the world to be born again.

Just beautiful.

But of course, Drana always had to think differently. She saw no beauty in the cleansing destruction wrought from war, its only redeeming quality. She saw nothing but death. She wanted that no blood be shed, no lives sacrificed so that the world might continue to grow as needed. Gaia had yet to make her understand, even after all these years. Her views were so tiresome in the waking world. So naive. This was nature. Humanity's way of controlling their own filth. What couldn't be understood in that?

x

As all shadow and spirit began to separate itself from its bonds to the city, an urgency filled me.

I couldn't stay.

My body would tear itself apart. Damn these witless little summoners and their natural powers. How I, of all people, could be 'sent' at any time; now that was truly an annoyance. And all the while Drana berated me with such weak mental slaps, to which I'd only shrug and laugh. If only they were by her soft, petite hands than false pangs of guilt that she tried to instill for viewing the wake of war as constructive. What a silly girl she was...

The edges of my cloaks crackled with pyreflies, dissipating as soon as they touched air. I clutched my sword's hilt so that my fingers quaked, I turned and fled between the stadium's columns as a rush of spirits flooded out from its center. They felt like water against my back, drenching me in energy so pure, I couldn't help but shudder and moan. It all felt just like her. How I missed having that body.

But I couldn't allow this sudden ecstasy to take me. Not with my existence so stupidly threatened.

I had to get away.

* * *

The Machina War had come and gone, just like that.

Zanarkand tossed its torch to the seas. The dark shadow of change had departed so quickly, and with it the flood of life. The City of the Pyreflies now stood as a simple, smoldering effigy of its former glory. Its neon glow faded. Its vibrancy thieved. The summoner's city breathed no more.

But Gaia wasn't telling the whole truth.

Though I didn't quite care. The future was here now. And it would be here for a very long time. How did I know? Drana writhed in unease. It almost made me want to go and comfort her. But no, she wanted me to stay and wait here. So be it. But she shifted and whimpered, her sadness floating by in depressing clouds shielding the dawn from the ruined metropolis. She knew. I knew. This future was long and treacherous in the making. In reprimand for the most daring misuse of the Planet's lifeblood since, well...

I lay on a far-away dock, my body spent, my clothes drenched and determined to suck whatever warmth from my skin. I'd left my sword behind, but in truth, we would never really part, not for long, not forever. My rags, too, had dissipated with the tide on which I rode to safety, baring flesh I often forgot ever having-- It was so easy to drop acquaintances with a body that spent more time drifting than living. And I preferred it that way, to spur along the life that Drana revived when it grew lax and crawled like beasts ready to die.

To the end.

"Drana..." I sighed. "Maybe...maybe now you'll rise? Gaia may want its strength back, our strength...heh. Damn you, do it. So I can be by your side again..."

* * *

_To Sixth: What._

_This has been a special presentation. A not so critical moment at a critical time. Storytelling's hard, but nevertheless, thanks to whoever might actually read in advance. Somehow. Oh and, I couldn't really decide where to put this... The world is obviously predominately FFX...but... Oh well, here's to testing the waters.  
_

* * *


End file.
